


Not Yet Tomorrow

by princesskay



Series: Claire/Frank Missing Scenes [6]
Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Episode Related, Episode: s04e03 Chapter 42, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Love/Hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 14:09:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11359083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: "You're here. I'm here. I figure, why not?"Frank and Claire embark into a night of no conditions inside the walls of their original palace.





	Not Yet Tomorrow

There was plummeting disappointment and dread to the fact that he couldn’t sleep in this bed, with her next to him the way he had three decades before. Even with his back turned to her, he couldn’t shut out her presence. His back stood stiff, like a barricade, between them - a useless attempt to protect himself against the shadowy threat of her sudden return. 

It hurt that they didn’t trust each other the way they once had. 

It hurt more knowing he was to blame. 

But he wouldn’t be the one to raise the white flag, or offer some plaintive, insincere apology. The truth was, he wasn’t sorry. She had turned her back on the good thing they had going, a far worse crime than a single moment of besieging anger. 

That anger, however, was a fast-burning flame that always - sooner rather than later - ate itself up and turned to smoke. She made him weak in the same turn as making him stronger, though the first reigned supreme in the walls of their original palace. 

Frank startled from his exhausted, half-asleep reverie when the mattress groaned and shifted behind him. Her hand touched his back, just between his shoulder blades; the flesh and bone barrier he trembled to hold staunch melted beneath her fingertips. 

He let out a slow breath. 

“You can’t sleep either?” 

She was quiet for a moment before she cleared her throat. “Too much to think about.” 

His brow twisted. Wary, but tempted. 

“You said ‘goodnight.’ I assumed that was the end of the conversation.” 

“We don’t have to walk on eggshells …”

“Don’t we?” 

The question thrust from his lips, hard and cutting. The dull hum of anger slipped through his chest. It was too late for this conversation. She was attacking from a place of strength, one she knew he couldn’t resist. He shouldn’t trust her willing return from Texas no matter how much he longed to believe she’d forgiven him. 

“Francis …” 

He fought not to turn over and look at her for mere seconds before the low timber of her voice made quick work of his resolve. 

He hadn’t spent much of the last few hours with his eyes closed. They were adjusted to the darkness, and he could see the shape of her face clearly despite the lack of light. 

“Do you think we were better versions of ourselves back then?” She murmured, “When we were just kids, living in this house …” 

“That depends.” 

“On?” 

“How you define ‘better’.” 

“Thirty years of history is usually something to be proud of.”

“It is. We’ve had a lot of wonderful years.” 

“You’re using past tense because we might never again.” 

“Because the past is the only thing that’s certain.” 

She nodded. Her fingers trailed through her bangs as she gazed up at the ceiling. Her mouth pursed, thoughtful, reminiscent. 

“Claire-” Frank began. 

She swung her gaze back to him, her eyes cutting through the darkness like diamonds - glittering and slicing through him like his skin was butter. Propping herself up on her elbow, she leaned closer to him with a faint smile. 

“Kiss me.” She whispered. 

“What?” 

The question, indignant and hoarse, spilled from his mouth before his mind could process her command. He could only sputter as she pressed a hand to his chest. 

“I know you want to.” 

“What I want is beside the point.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“This may be the house of our youth, but we’re not young anymore, Claire. We’re ravaged with scars - half of them we gave each other - and besides, we’re bigger than this moment. You walked away; you can’t just waltz back here with no explanation, with no-”

“I know.” 

“You said, ‘I’m leaving you’. You turned your back on me, and you-”

“Francis,  _ I know! _ ” 

Her tone cut through his argument, descending them into strained silence. Their gazes battled out a weary fight that neither of them awake enough, alert enough, or strong enough to see through to the end. 

He caught her by the nape, and dragged her mouth down against his, ignoring the blare of warning sirens ringing through his head. The taste of her mouth, the satin of her lips was more potent than all his doubts and distrust. He’d spent years honing the skill to see and detect the enemy before they struck, but she held immunity status. She divined his need, and so it was. 

The hard kiss lasted seconds before breaking off, both of them panting and groping. His hand dragged over the curve of her hip and backside, curling around the silk of her pajamas, and pulling her against him. He could feel the warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric, the heat beginning to radiate between her legs. 

Pleasure twisted hard low in his belly, sending pangs of need from head to toe. Her thigh pressed against him, making certain they could both feel the steady pulse of his erection. 

She bent to kiss him again, but he held her back with a hand around her chin. 

“Before this goes any further, do me one favor.” 

“Fine.” She whispered. 

“Be honest.” He said, “After all that’s happened, I know it isn’t this simple, no matter how much I’d like to believe it.” 

She let out a soft laugh, and reached up to tug his hand from her jaw. She guided it to her breast, where her nipple pressed taut against the silk. 

“You’re here. I’m here.” She murmured, “I figure, why not?” 

“So … this is just sex.” 

“We know how to satisfy each other. Isn’t that reason enough?” 

“It might be … for anyone else.” 

“But we’re not just anyone else.” 

“No, we’re not. I’m the President of the United States. And you’re the First Lady. And everything hinges on tomorrow.” 

“It’s not tomorrow yet. And we’re not in the White House.” 

Frank regarded her prodding gaze, and the way his hand swallowed her breast. He dragged his thumb across the fabric, especially hard where her nipple stood engorged and aching. 

She shuddered, her head tilting back to expose her clenching, moaning throat. 

He dipped his head, nudging his mouth against her breast. The drag of his lips were soft at first, fostering the ripple of need coursing through her body. He took her nipple through the silk of her shirt, sealing and grinding the thin fabric over her tender skin with a slow, firm suckle. 

She let out a low, wavering cry. Sinking her fingers into his hair, she pulled his face against her, encouraging the growing pressure of his mouth. 

Grasping her hip, he pushed her back against the mattress, and rose over her. Her body arched beneath him, hands batting helplessly at his shoulders as he bared his teeth against wet silk. 

“Francis!” 

He pulled back at her sharp cry, and tracked his gaze up the heave of her chest to her face. 

“That hurts.” She whispered, her voice thick, husky. 

“A night like tonight doesn’t come with conditions, sweetheart.” 

She considered his uncompromising tone with a smooth, yet stony expression. She was both cold and fragile, an angel cut from marble. Hard edges that could shatter with just the right pressure. 

Christ, he wanted to hurt her. 

She’d caused him so much frustration and heartache in the past month that he could hardly differentiate his need from his anger anymore. His vision was hedged with red - the same color romantic roses share with spilt blood. Love and hate - there was hardly a line between them anymore. 

Claire moved again first. 

Without breaking their gaze, she reached up to unbutton the front of her shirt. The fabric parted slowly, sliding like water from her chest as the last button came undone. Her hand lingered at her chest, brushing against the nipple he’d bruised. 

He leaned over her, and her legs parted to take him between her thighs. Sliding his hands up the sheets, he found her slender wrists and took them in a firm grasp. His mouth sealed over hers before she could protest. 

They kissed in silence, not a single moan or whimper to signal their shared, violent need. Her mouth parted beneath the pressure of his lips, taking the first stroke of his tongue with a tremble. 

She arched beneath him, locking her thighs around his hips, and leveraging herself up against him.  Pushing her pelvis against his, she ground into the swollen length of his cock. Persistent and merciless, the friction spilled across his senses like the lick of flames, burning away all else. 

He tore his mouth from hers, and descended the beating pulse of her throat. She twisted as he reached her breast, wrapping his mouth around the sensitive bud without prelude. Her struggle was rewarded with the cinch of his fists around her wrists, forcing her arms above her head. A low moan burst from her throat as he sucked a bruise into her skin, leaving her nipple hard, wet, and aching. 

“Francis …” His name twisted free of her throat in a plea. 

He lifted his head, peering up her chest to find her gazing down at him with wide eyes, and bitten lips. 

She wasn’t injured. Not desperate. But plotting. 

She knew just how to appeal to his darker soul, his even darker desires. 

He shifted both her wrists beneath one hand, and used the other to reach between them. She swallowed back a gasp as his fingers slid down the soft plane of her belly to find the waistband of her pants. The silk gave way easily, a flimsy barrier between her wet, aching center and the stroke of his hand. He reached beneath, pleased to discover she’d foregone panties. 

Their gazes connected, heated with threats and desires, as his fingers crept slowly downward. 

Her mouth parted, breath hitching and pitching with need. 

Two fingers slid between her labia, finding her slick with need. Her hips jolted, and her eyes slammed shut. She turned her face into her shoulder, muffling a moan that urged past her tongue with every languid stroke of his fingers. 

Frank couldn’t help the smile that tugged persistently at his mouth. 

He’d reduced her to a mass of quivering and gushing flesh, nerve-endings exposed like open wounds, longing for relief, in a matter of minutes. She hadn’t been this enthusiastic for some time - that should have been a red flag out of hundreds - but he couldn’t bring himself to care with her clitoris swollen and tingling with orgasm under the touch of his hand. 

Her hips jutted into the consistent swirl of his fingers, body straining and reaching for the promise of release. Her wrists stiffened under the grip of his fist, but he held her fast. She was like a fish caught on his line, trembling and twisting, gasping and breathless. 

He wouldn’t let her go until she gave him everything he wanted - for tonight, and for every night after this one. She’ll always circle back around this; he’s the only one who knows every little nuance and secret. Everything else is just smoke screens, and temporary, passing whims. 

“Ohhh …”

Her whimper signaled the end, just before her body began to stiffen. 

He employed a stronger, fast touch, massaging her to the edge, sending her over with a punishing caress. 

“Oh god, oh god …” The moan rushed from her throat, hoarse and thin, panicked by the the speed and volatility of her own pleasure. 

Her hips thrust into his hand, first deliberate, and then erratic and swift as the pleasure gained momentum and force. Her cry withered in a high-pitched, strung-out whine that lasted through spasm after spasm. She gushed over his fingers, etching the shape, scent, and sound of her orgasm into his brain. The memory was fully formed and powerful before she had even lapsed against the sheets, drained and listless. 

He retrieved his hand, and leaned back on his heels. Her legs spilled limp and motionless over his thighs, but her belly trembled with the aftershocks. She draped one arm over her face, hiding from him the depth of pleasure. But he didn’t need to see her eyes to know she’d accomplished more than she’d meant to tonight. 

He put his fingers to his mouth, tasting her until the only moisture left on his skin was his own saliva. 

“Blind trust.” He said, “Is that what you want?” 

Removing her arm from across her face, she looked up at him with contrived expression of innocence. 

He didn’t trust her for a goddamn second. She was trying to fuck him, in more ways than one. 

“Love isn’t just blind.” He said, “It’s  _ willfully  _ blind. And I won’t be party to it any longer.” 

“You’ll never stop loving me, Francis; don’t try to fool yourself-”

“Right now, I hate you. And I know you hate me.” 

She stopped, pressing her mouth into a thin line. After a beat, she drew in a deep breath that made her chest shake. 

“So, why  _ did  _ you come back?” He pressed, “I know it wasn’t for something as trivial as this.” 

“Of course not. Don’t insult me.” 

“Then, what?” 

“You said it yourself. My campaign is dead. This future is the only one we have.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” 

“I can face the truth, Francis. I won’t hide from it.”

“I  _ killed  _ your campaign. Now you’re here, begging me to get you off.” 

“I didn’t beg.” 

“You didn’t have to.” 

She pushed herself upright, combing her fingers casually through her hair. Her unbuttoned blouse slid from her shoulders to her elbows, hanging there below her naked breasts like an afterthought. 

“In that hotel in Iowa …” 

His stomach knotted at the very remark, and he held up a hand. “Claire, let’s not talk about that-”

“I wanted you to fuck me because I thought it might mean there was still something real between us.” 

“I thought you just wanted to get a rise out of me.”

“That too. I thought if you hurt me, at least … there’s still something genuine - even if it’s hate, not love I still matter enough to you that you would respond.”

“Claire-”

“It was twisted, I know. When you found me in your office, and we were  _ screaming  _ like our lives depended on it, I wished I hadn’t-”

“ _ Claire _ .” 

The demand in his tone brought her gaze back to his; despite the shadows, he could see the glint of tears in her eyes. 

“Of course you still matter to me. You mean more than anything.” He said, taking her by the shoulders. 

“Do I?” 

He caressed her cheek with thumb, finding some small semblance of comfort in the familiar exchange. He pulled her toward him, and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. 

“Is that what you still want out of me?”

She drew in a shaky breath, and reached out to clutch the front of his shirt. 

“You want me to take you?” 

She leaned closer, trailing her hand down his chest and stomach to find his crotch. A sharp knife of pleasure delved through his belly and into his groin, dragging him fully hard and aching against her hand in a matter of seconds. 

“You said no conditions.” She whispered. 

Gripping her jaw, he pushed her head back so that their eyes could meet. Inches apart, he could feel the heat of her breath, almost taste the sweet flavor of her soft, parted lips. 

He kissed her before he could say anything he’d regret, or make a promise he couldn’t keep. The sky blue of her eyes could make him forget everything that had come before; the nostalgia in her voice almost made him wish he could take back all the hasty, cutting words, the anger, the disagreements. He wanted to promise her the world - but tonight was only an exception, and tomorrow, all those conditions would be back on the table. 

She climbed onto his lap as the kiss turned to a wet, heated exchanged. His hands molded over her hips, and mapped out the swell of her backside. Trembling and desperate, he grasped at the waistband of her pants, dragging the silk away. She rose just long enough to step out of them, and settled back down on his lap. She was naked and soft against him, her skin like cream under the brusque journey of his calloused hands. She felt like abandon, like a dream, one he willingly plunged himself into despite decrying blindness only moments ago. 

Her fingers reached between them, peeling fabric back from his aching cock. He helped her push his boxers down around his thighs, just low enough for her to slide him into her without delay. She was slick and velvet, taking his cock fully in the first thrust. She rippled around him, and a low whimper pushed past her lips at the harshness. 

Her mouth turned against his cheek, feeding shallow gasps and the whimper of his name into his ear. A shiver of pleasure worked down his spine, and he answered her with a satisfied grunt. 

Grasping her hips, he guided her in quick, shallow thrusts against him. Her body clenched and trembled, but took the stroke of his cock with ease now. She tilted her head back, showing him her neck, and the heave of her breasts. Rocking against him, she curled her arms over her head to grasp at her nape with strained, twisting fingers. 

He reached out to touch her breast, whispering, “Claire …” 

One hand left her hair to shove against his chest, pushing him to his back against the mattress. He went without protest, watching with pleasure-heavy eyes as she rose over him, riding him harder. Her breasts jolted with every thrust, nipples standing hard and rosy. 

He grasped at one breast while he gripped her hip with the other hand, unable to fully sit back and let her take control. She was smoke these days - disappearing into thin air after the blaze was over. He could already feel her slipping back away, leaving him a bare, dry shore without a tide, even before the pleasure could rise to consume him. 

Thought turned to blank white, tension to bliss. His eyes rolled back, and he could see a galaxy behind his eyes as the pleasure rolled through him. He could feel her clamping around him, hear her low, satisfied groan as his release filled her. But the pleasure was blinding, and he could not open his eyes with rift after rift of the orgasm tearing through his chest and belly. 

As quickly as it had come, it released him back into reality, drifting and weak. 

Claire rose, allowing his cock to slide free. The low, pleasant hum of pleasure still tingled through him as she climbed off of the bed, and made her way through the darkness to the bathroom. The light in the bathroom clicked on, spilling illumination into the bedroom. 

Frank opened his eyes to watch as she bent over the tub. She cranked the knobs on, tested the water, and switched on the shower. Stepping over the ceramic edge, she pulled the curtain shut, cutting off his view. 

Turning his gaze back to the ceiling, he let out a low sigh. 

No post-coital embrace, not even a smile. 

He hadn’t expected anything more. He hadn’t expected any of this night. 

After weeks of tension and disjointed, tangled emotions, he felt spent, his chest a barren wasteland. His body hummed with bliss that he could not fully enjoy. His love for her raged against the wall that stood between them; his anger making no more impact than his love.

If he could hurt her, he would. If he could love her, he would. 

If he could walk away, he would. And even though she had tried that very thing, he knew it wasn’t forever. Nothing was forever, except them. 

 

~the end~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)
> 
> You can also find me on [Tumblr!](http://clairehales.tumblr.com//)!


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